


What You Deserve

by orphan_account



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Everyone lives technically, Fluff, Happy Ending, M/M, Not kidding about the dumb or the cuteness, Post-Blood and Wine (The Witcher 3 DLC), dumb cuteness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-31
Updated: 2018-05-31
Packaged: 2019-05-16 13:12:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14812028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: It was three weeks before Eskel's voice was back in entirety.He'd never been overly chatty to begin with—neither had Letho—but had often been the one to initiate conversation.  Now, though, despite his voice being back, it hurt to speak too much, and, though he could talk again, his voice was lower, raspier, coarser."Serves you right for trying to be a hero," Letho said, when the Wolf mentioned how his voice would never be the same.





	What You Deserve

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dravenxiv](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dravenxiv/gifts).



> Meant to post this ages ago; lost the flashdrive it was on, then just found it again the other day.
> 
> Takes place following an AU version of Blood and Wine's story where Eskel and Letho replace Geralt—

Nightmares happened.

Witchers were not exempt from them—no one was, even if not everyone had them, or remembered them when they did.

Letho hadn't had _nightmares_ for a while.  The last ones were two years or so gone, and brief and half-forgotten, about his fellow Vipers—and Geralt of Rivia.

These new nightmares—which he'd been having every godsdamned night since the _brawl_ with Dettlaff—were bleeding fresh, violent and painful.

And way too close to being memories.

Three weeks had gone by, he'd had an hour or so of sleep each night since, and always wound up spending twice that standing in the doorway of Eskel's room, watching the Wolf sleep, counting each breath, his gut clenching if he imagined some irregularity to any of them.  The first week he'd had cause to be concerned—the Wolf—the stupid fucking noble son of a bitch (were they all that way?  So far half of the Wolves he'd ever met were)—was still too close to death for his own good.  Letho knew Geralt had survived having his throat slit open deeper than Eskel had—all the way to the bone, if the rumors he'd heard were true.  But that had been the entirety of it for Geralt.

Eskel had his throat slit open _on top of_ being run through with three of five sword-sized claws—thankfully, with nothing really vital being pierced.

And then fighting, bleeding and on the verge of failing.

In Letho's nightmares, it had gone much the same way as reality—with bad turns wherever they could've been.

And they always ended up with him unable to reach his friend—because that's what he considered Eskel to be—as the damnable Wolf died.

 

It was three weeks before Eskel's voice was back in entirety.

He'd never been overly chatty to begin with—neither had Letho—but had often been the one to initiate conversation, which the Viper would then populate with stories and ideas, particularly when the conversations happened over bottles of pepper vodka.  Now, though, despite his voice being back, it hurt to speak too much, and, though he _could_ talk again, his voice was lower, raspier, coarser.

"Serves you right for trying to be a hero," Letho said, when the Wolf mentioned how his voice would never be the same.  They were walking through the vineyard which _technically_ belonged to Eskel, but that he was more than happy to share with the Viper.  It was the first time in neither-of-them-could-say-how-long that they were in plain clothes, unarmed, with nothing better to do or kill.  The soft fabric felt... oddly wrong against Eskel's skin and Letho didn't seem entirely comfortable without his thick leather vest, either.

"I wasn't," Eskel protested. "I was just... doing what was right."

"That's what a fucking hero would say, Eskel," Letho teased.

Eskel didn't bother roughing his throat for a reply.  It was all eyeroll.  And Letho fucking _smirked_ at that.  Neither one of them were particularly talkative, but Eskel's companionship _had_ drawn a softer, more _human_ side out of the Viper.

"Regis has been babysitting Syanna since he scattered Dettlaff across half the fucking country," Letho informed Eskel. "And Anarietta's been dragging her heels about what to do with her."

Eskel raised an eyebrow. "So?"

"So she wants our input.  Well, specifically _your_ input—what with you being the fucking too-noble-for-your-own-good Wolf that you are."

Eskel frowned.

"I... heard about your, ah, experience with girls born under the Black Sun."

Eskel scowled a little deeper. "Lambert or Geralt?"

Letho conveniently ignored the inquiry and continued, "Don't let it color your judgement."

"My judgement?"

"Don't stick your neck out for the bitch."

"She was abandoned by her family and _raped and left for dead_ by men she should've been able to trust," Eskel said, voice rising in volume and taking a thicker rasp to it. "They deserved what they got."

Letho frowned. "They were still knights of Toussiant."

"Doesn't exempt them."

"No, but it'll color the fucking judgement against her."

Eskel shrugged. "And bullshit displays of sacrifice will strike a chord."

Letho's eyes narrowed and his brow furrowed. "You let yourself get slit on purpose?  To _protect_ that vampire-fucking murderess?"

"No," Eskel said. "Let myself get slit to protect _you_."

He jabbed Letho in the chest where Dettlaff's claws would've pierced.  And he felt Letho's heart racing right under his fingertips.  The Viper swallowed stiffly. "Me?"

Eskel nodded. "Generally hate undue suffering.  Fucking too-noble-for-my-own-good Wolf that I am."

"Even so, why would you have gotten yourself killed for _me_?  I'm as much a monster as those fucking Knights were, in different ways—"

Eskel growled.  He probably could've _said_ something, but the low, canine snarl was enough to shut the taller Witcher up.  Letho looked down at him, meeting his stare.  Eskel put his hand on Letho's chest, spreading his fingers, the Viper's pulse ticking up a little faster under his palm.

"Don't make me repeat it.  Hurt enough the first time," Eskel said.

"It's more than that, though," Letho said, looking down at the Wolf's hand. "Isn't it?"

It had been far too long since Eskel had kissed anyone—and longer still since he'd kissed a man.  Kissing Letho was very different from kissing Lex, a Cat he'd been close to forty or so years ago.  Foremost of the differences was that Letho was just as out of practice as Eskel was, secondarily, that he lacked the facial hair the Cat had worn (really, any hair at all).  But for all the kiss's awkwardness, for how short it was, it was actually quite wonderful—honest and gentle and sweet.

"We're expected at the Ducal Palace later.  We should go get ready for that," Letho said softly, roughly.  Eskel nodded.

 

Just after the duchess handed down her judgement on her sister—'imprisonment' at Corvo Bianco, in Eskel's custody—and just before awarding both witchers were awarded The Order of Vitis Vinifera, Anna Henrietta drew Letho aside, away from Eskel and Regis and her guards.

"Master Letho, we were tasked by His Imperial Majesty with presenting this to you," Anna Henrietta said.  Letho took the folded slip of parchment—with Emhyr var Emreis's seal on it—from her with a polite thanks and, as she stepped away again, opened it.  It was, in essence an apology letter.  And an Imperial Pardon.  And an expression of gratitude.

Eskel raised an eyebrow in inquiry, edging closer.

"It's a pardon from Emhyr var Emreis," Letho told him.  The Wolf snorted, like he couldn't believe it, but didn't ask to see it.  Letho tucked it into his jacket and let the relief that must've shown in his face ease his stance and stride. 

At the ceremony for awarding the Order of Vitis Vinifera, Anna Henrietta also _knighted_ them both— and informed them in a low aside that this meant they couldn't escape the party that followed.

Oddly enough, at the party and so far from a place of comfort, Letho felt the most at ease that he'd been in far too long.

He had Eskel on his right, a cup of good wine, _a letter of apology_ from the _Emperor_ of Nilfgaard in his jacket—

And everyone was genuine when they reached for his hand and thanked him.  No one saw the terrifying assassin, the deadly witcher.  They saw the newly-minted Knight, they saw a man who'd put his life on the line for their survival.  He wasn't strange and terrifying—he was someone to aspire to be.

Letho turned to say something to Eskel and was caught off-guard for a second—in the black and red suit, fitted to Eskel's lean figure, and from this angle, the Wolf looked... incredibly handsome, his dark hair swept back and curling just behind his ears.  From his left, Letho got an idea of what he'd looked like before he'd been scarred—and was simultaneously angered and intrigued.

"Think we can get outta here without someone noticing?"

Eskel glanced at him. "You got a plan?"

"I might."

The Wolf snorted, smirked and shrugged. "After you."


End file.
